


you do such damage (how do you manage?)

by shoutz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Voyeurism, please don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: A promise made, and a debt paid.I awoke this morning to find myself with second thoughts, a new and frightening experience. It was unfair of me to corner you in your own Ocular like that — and more so to pry into such personal matters and have the audacity to be surprised when I found resistance against my prodding. I humbly apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you. The nature of my regret has me feeling quite generous, however, which is another new and arguably more frightening experience. Rest assured, I will make it up to you. You will know when the debt has been paid. From one friend… to another.Your Favorite Ascian,E-S
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 16
Kudos: 130





	you do such damage (how do you manage?)

**Author's Note:**

> Mild Shadowbringers spoilers. Major tentacles. Do NOT look at me. Don't look at me.
> 
> Title from [What Kind Of Man — Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCeRNpR09es).

_I awoke this morning to find myself with second thoughts, a new and frightening experience. It was unfair of me to corner you in your own Ocular like that — and more so to pry into such personal matters and have the audacity to be surprised when I found resistance against my prodding. I humbly apologize for any discomfort I may have caused you. The nature of my regret has me feeling quite generous, however, which is another new and arguably more frightening experience. Rest assured, I will make it up to you. You will know when the debt has been paid. From one friend… to another._

_Your Favorite Ascian,  
_ _E-S_

The letter had somehow found its way into the Crystal Exarch’s private quarters, a mystery in and of itself, one that has him pacing back and forth amidst his piles of books and old loose documents. Not only was such formality unheard of when it came to Emet-Selch, but even more than that, what could it _mean?_ How will he know when it has been paid? How will it even _be_ paid? And…

_Friend?_

After having spent the past half hour turning thoughts over in his head, trying to suss meaning from little more than scratches on parchment, he decides that pondering the subject with endless confusion would do little and less to aid the situation. Much better to let the Ascian remain cryptic and wait for mysteries to sort themselves than waste precious time and energy upon something that may matter little and less in the end.

He sits and resigns himself to another tome, one about the many facets of talos that he had read once before but deserves a more careful eye now that they make up such a big part of their plan. It’s a futile attempt to strongarm the questions from his mind. He gets nearly a quarter of the way through before his thoughts drift back to the letter, the promise, the intrigue.

The thoughts scatter as a sound startles him: a single _snap._ It sparks a rush of adrenaline. The Exarch knows with certainty that there is but one individual who operates in such a manner, and the idea of that person somehow intruding upon his private sanctum, though not unheard of, is particularly repulsive.

But no mass of dark aether appears, and no footsteps follow. The Exarch remains alone in his chamber, the sound still echoing up into the high ceilings.

Instead, the display of his scrying portal flickers to light with a burst of blue aether. The Exarch blinks at it once, twice, trying to ordain how it might have turned itself on as his brain refuses to connect the dots. An image comes into clarity after a few seconds, the cozy inn quarters of the Warrior of Light. He’s ashamed at its familiarity to him, and even more ashamed that he has peered into it enough to recognize when it has been cleaned by the Warrior of Light herself or the staff of The Pendants. But he has little and less time for chagrin.

He is graced with the view of Emet-Selch’s ever-slouching back, silhouetted by the clear day outside as he stands before the open windows. The shadow that follows him is elongated by the setting sun, a late hour and a sideways pink light to accompany it. He leans down after a moment, inspecting the flowers the Warrior of Light so faithfully keeps watered and healthy. The Exarch wants to shift the view of the mirror to see if it truly is a small smile he sees on Emet-Selch’s face, but a slight fear and confusion keep him frozen in place.

He seems to bore of the flowers and the view and turns towards the rest of the room, taking it in. His gaze lingers on the door for a brief moment and his eyebrows furrow. The Exarch wonders what he could be doing, what he could be pondering, why he is being forced to watch an Ascian traipse around in someone else’s quarters, and above all, how this could possibly be related to that letter that had made its way into his possession.

The questions linger even as Emet-Selch wanders over to take a seat at the table, _her_ table. The basket that once held sandwiches made by the Exarch himself sits empty upon its surface, having been eaten as she discussed myriad topics with herself. It’s not something he would ever mention to her, mostly because it’s her own business, but more so because he shouldn’t have seen such a thing in the first place.

But, as always, curiosity wins over his guilt and he continues to watch. Emet-Selch sits idly for a while, picking at the hem of a glove as he studies the room. One long leg crosses over another as he makes himself comfortable. The Exarch huffs a sigh.

As if he had heard, Emet-Selch turns to face the disembodied view to make direct eye contact with the Exarch. His eyes narrow and he _smirks,_ the bastard. An angry heat spreads from the Exarch’s chest out to his extremities, stoked by the fury of being mocked so openly and without anything to say in his own defense. He’s not even sure _why_ he’s being made to see this.

At least, not until the doors open.

The Warrior of Light draws her weapon immediately upon recognizing the Ascian in her chambers, angry accusation in her eyes as she shouts, “You have _seconds_ to explain yourself before I escort you from the premises _by force!_ ”

He raises his hands in surrender, still seated. “Easy, easy! I’ve come to talk. We’ve much to discuss, you and I, and all the better to be away from those friends of yours as we do it.”

“I said _seconds_ , Emet-Selch, and they’re ticking!”

Emet-Selch sighs, deflating, and stands. At his full height, he nearly towers over her, but that does nothing to dull the fight and fire in her stance. She takes a few steps towards him, and the doors close themselves as she enters the room proper. He walks to meet her, in the center of the room, looking down at her with an expression the Exarch can’t see from his vantage point. There’s another temptation to move the mirror’s sight, just so he can see what he’s missing, but uncertainty keeps him from touching it, as if doing so would somehow make this _his_ responsibility instead of Emet-Selch’s.

“Must we begin our discussion with such aggression? Must your apprehension always get the better of you?” She lowers her weapon, ever slightly, but she remains wary. Emet-Selch’s voice is a low rumble as he speaks, void of all snark in favor of something warmer, something more palatable. “Fear not, my dear, I come not to harm you but to help.”

“And what, pray tell, do I need _help_ with? Are you offering to join the fight when we take it to Kholusia? In those skirts?” The words bite but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips, a predator playing with its meal. It’s clear she doesn’t see him as a real threat, but trepidation and caution still lay beneath the surface of her snark.

“I can remove them, if you’d prefer.”

The Warrior of Light lets her gaze flit down for the span of a breath, before she looks up to meet his eyes once again. Considering. Calculating. Risk, and reward. “What is it you want? No more games, and no more lies.”

Emet-Selch leans back, hand perched on his chest, clearly affronted. “You wound me. I swear upon all I hold dear that I have not lied to you, nor will I ever.” She opens her mouth to speak, a fight clear in her eyes, but she seems to think better of it. After a long moment of studying her expression, he walks over to the window, leaning down to observe the flowers once more. “You seem lonely, hero.”

She shrugs. “I have friends.”

“Friends. Allies. I’m sure you could call them that, after a fashion.” He straightens and turns back towards her. “But you know that’s not the manner of _lonely_ of which I speak. Tell me, is there truly any lucky soul on this shard that could quench your fire?”

The Warrior of Light takes a step towards him, tucks away her weapon in a motion that seems to exude finality. She doesn’t dignify him with a response, watching his every movement with eyes most keen.

“Thancred, perhaps? Oh, but he’s so brutish, so indelicate. Y’shtola seems too busy for such intimacy, though her dealings in Rak’tika are quite the enigma… And you’d be hard-pressed to pry Urianger away from his precious books for much more than, say, an impending calamity.” She puts her hand back to rest on her weapon, a clear threat, but he raises his hands in surrender. “I jest. But my question is legitimate. Could any of these common folk broach what you need? Because believe me, from one old soul to another, I know too well that individuals who can sate our fathomless desires are few and far between.”

“I’m not as old as you are, _Solus_ ,” she says, and Emet-Selch blinks at the name. It startles a laugh out of the Exarch, and he panics for a brief moment before remembering that they can’t hear him. “And I would highly recommend you speak plainly, before I decide that hearing you out is not worth my time after all.”

Emet-Selch sighs, and closes the majority of the distance between them. She has to crane her neck to look up at him, to maintain eye contact. It’s a clear show of power but she refuses to bend to his influence. Such a display sets something boiling low within the Exarch’s gut, something hungry and tense and eager to see exactly how Emet-Selch intends to pay him back.

A corner of Emet-Selch’s lip quirks up, showing a sliver of glinting white teeth. “Plainly, then, it would be my most humble honor to soothe any of your more debauched urges in all the myriad ways available to me.” She blinks once. “I have seen the way you _see_ me, hero. And that I’m not currently scattered into tiny flecks of aether and white auracite tells me that you are not wholly opposed to the notion of something several tiers less than professional between us.”

She balks for a moment, mouth opening and closing in a vague attempt to find words to sling back at him. But what is there to say after a confession so brazen? And, apparently, accurate. A blush creeps up the neckline of her clothes, reaching her ears in a slow crawl. The Exarch tries his hardest not to burn with the jealousy of knowing that the damnable Ascian is eliciting such reactions from the Warrior of Light, all while he sits silently in his inner sanctum and _watches_.

She clears her throat. “Quite presumptuous of you to intrude upon my private chambers unannounced with the assumption that this would end in the way _you_ would prefer.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

A tense moment passes. The Exarch finds himself holding his breath, waiting silently for a response to a question he didn’t even ask. Like reading a slow-paced novel, the plot unfurling itself in glacial, painstaking seconds. But he can’t skip ahead and see how it ends. He can only watch, tense as a coiled spring, waiting for the shoe to drop. She maintains nigh unflinching eye contact with the Ascian, expression shifting as she considers.

“Hm. Fine.” Her piercing gaze flits down and back up. “Let’s see what tricks you’re hiding, then. I very much hope for your sake that you do not disappoint.”

Emet-Selch’s smirk splits into something more wicked as he speaks, “I do appreciate the allure of a challenge.”

In an instant, the shadows pooling beneath him grow darker, almost drinking the light around them. The Warrior of Light looks down and takes an instinctive step backwards, but Emet-Selch is quick to close the distance.

With two gentle hands on either side of her face, he pulls her into a kiss. It takes her by surprise — her hands float in the air, confused, unsure of where to go — but even more surprising is the _way_ he kisses. It’s none of the crushing, bruising fervor expected of a villain. Instead it seems soft, _passionate_ , and it irks the Exarch to his very core.

Eventually, her hands make their way to his chest, resting there as a buffer of sorts, an out should she desire it. Emet-Selch indulges himself in her lips, slow and deliberate presses of his own to coax her into some semblance of compliance. It works; soon enough she’s sighing and he’s swallowing each and every fervent sound that passes her lips, no matter how quiet.

Until the shadows coalesce.

Tendrils of dark aether make their slow approach from the floor, silently snaking up two unwitting legs. She startles at the sensation, raises a fuss and attempts to pull back, but two hands and an intoxicating kiss keep her firmly in place.

 _Oh._ The Exarch bites his lip, clenching fists in his robes that they might not delve to sate his uncouth urges. _This is what he meant._

The aether wraps around her ankles, her legs, snaking up and up until they can drape around her hips. They ease her backwards slowly and she follows their thrall, legs working to keep her upright though there is no doubt the appendages would suffice should she lose her balance. Emet-Selch follows closely, maintaining the scant distance between them, devouring her with his eyes before going in for the kill.

“Quite the surprise.” The Warrior of Light is breathless, enthralled, tantalized by the notion of what is to come. Her pupils blow wide as she stares up at him, lower lip caught between her teeth, and the Exarch allows himself one smooth slide of his palm over his groin through his clothes, the smallest hint of relief before what little remains of his resolve shatters.

Emet-Selch raises a single lazy hand as he walks forward and the view of the scrying portal moves in tandem, creeping forward until her back thumps against the wall behind her. Two tendrils emerge from the stone and gently restrain her wrists, while the tendril around her waist slinks back into the deep shadows behind her.

“You’ll soon discover that underestimating me is a grave mistake,” he drawls, close enough to share breath, tracing one gloved fingertip along her jawline as he looms above her. The Exarch’s view is pulled in close enough to see the goosebumps rise on her skin, and the gasp that escapes her lungs echoes through the room.

He opens his mouth to say more but she beats him to the punch, surging upwards for another kiss despite her restrained arms holding her back. A surprised noise enters the space between them but he allows it, pressing languid against her lips, clearly in no rush.

They indulge in one another for a few suspended moments and the Exarch’s lips almost _ache_ with how much he wishes he could be sating such base needs for her. That heated jealousy returns but it seats itself lower in his torso, a slow simmer but one hot enough that he can’t resist another slow press of palm against groin.

_“Mmm!”_

The Exarch jolts and pulls his hand away as if burned by the high-pitched moan that makes its way out of the Warrior of Light. He blinks, eyes searching his scrying display for what might have elicited that noise, before his eyes catch on the dark tendril pressing up between her legs from behind.

Emet-Selch swallows up the noise greedily, pressing closer to intensify the kiss as the tendril undulates in slow pulses against her. Her hands strain against the two holding them against the wall but her body surges closer to his regardless of the strain. The desperation — the sheer _need_ he sees in her every movement — has the Exarch shoving his bountiful robes aside and taking himself in hand properly, a slow stroke that sends a hissed exhalation between clenched teeth.

Emet-Selch pulls back a fraction, just out of her reach as she squirms for more stimulation. Both of his hands clasp behind his back and the smirk on his lips could cut glass. “So easily do you reveal your desire. I would have expected you to be more coy, or _enigmatic_ as is your wont. Never would I imagine you to be so pliant…”

She whines wordless as the tentacle between her legs shifts away from her. Two more appear from the shadows and take a gentle hold of her waistband, pulling her back flush with the wall and undressing her lower half with care. The Exarch’s eyes are carefully trained on each and every ilm of skin revealed, until fabric pools at her feet and the tentacles retreat.

“Emet— _oh,_ please…” The appendage between her legs returns, pressing slowly into freshly exposed skin.

The Exarch lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, speeding up his pace as the tentacle applies pointed pressure against her sex. Another damnable appendage slinks out of the shadows between her legs to press into her instead of just against her, a motion that has a low moan leaking from her lungs as her head hangs forward.

“Is this acceptable? Does this sate your unceasing desires? I have much and more to show you, my dear…” Another dark tentacle sprouts from the space next to her head and slithers around her neck, holding her head back against the wall that he might watch her face as she comes undone. That the _Exarch_ might watch her face as she comes undone. He will never stoop so low as to thank Emet-Selch, but… The temptation is there. He is certainly deserving of it. “And you seem so eager. So _pleased._ Tell me, have you felt such pleasure before? Stroke my ego. Spare no detail — how does it feel?”

She smirks, breathless, a tired fire simmering in her gaze. Oh, to be on the receiving end of that look… The Exarch has to slow his hand at the thought, or risk finishing before this _debt_ has been paid. “It’s f — _ah_ — fine, I suppose…”

“Fine? Just _fine?”_ The tentacles between her legs withdraw for a moment and she lets out a loud, desperate whine, a noise that has the Exarch gripping the base of his cock lest he finishes too soon. Emet-Selch reaches down with two fingers and strokes the wetness there, the evidence of her desire, and scoffs. “Lying will not avail you, my dear.”

She hitches her shoulders up in a shrug as best she can, a lazy grin on her face as she watches him and enjoys his fingers which have yet to retreat. “I’ve had better.”

He stands back, something tense in the curve of his brow and the set of his jaw. His hand withdraws and she barely bites back a whine at the loss. “Allow me to reiterate: lying will not get you what you want.”

A few moments of silence pass between them, as Emet-Selch watches the Warrior of Light expectantly. A few emotions pass her face, not the least of which is frustration mixed with impatience, until her lilting, whining voice finally emerges. “Fine. Fine! You’re the best I’ve ever had! It feels incredible! Not even _Thancred_ could never match your— You… Oh, _please…_ ” Her tirade fizzles to nothing as the tip of a tentacle traces the inside of her thigh, teasing but not quite satisfying her desire.

A hand comes up to cup an ear, tilted in her direction as he grins. “What was that?”

“I… _hah_ …” Finally, _finally_ the tentacles resume their previous positions, undulating against her at an agonizingly slow pace. “Gods, Emet-Selch, that’s…divine…” she gasps. He steps back, seemingly satisfied, hands clasped primly behind his back as he watches them slowly pick up their pace once more.

“They are made of my aether, you know. While I may not be touching you, per se, the most intimate parts of my soul…my very _essence_ is doing this to you.” The tip of another tendril pushes past her lips. Pliant, she opens her mouth and sucks, watching Emet-Selch with burning half-lidded eyes. He meets her gaze and lets out a sigh, hands still held behind his back though his fists clench. “Such intimacy you cannot share with the others. This is not a power they can rightfully possess. Such unbound pleasure…A most _affecting spectacle._ Would you not agree?”

She moans around the appendage and her knees tremble. Such overwhelming sensation directed directly at her most vulnerable parts, all while Emet-Selch stands and _watches,_ seemingly unaffected though the Exarch sees the clenched fists held behind his back and the meager restraint they represent. Watching the action from afar is one thing, but resisting such temptation from within the same room takes a brand of patience the Exarch isn’t sure he would be able to exert.

“I never imagined you would be so _noisy._ You, of such brevity and stoicism. Are you always this loud in the throes of passion?”

She bites her lower lip and her hips grind slow circles against the appendages, watching him with dark eyes. A blush dusts her cheeks and she shakes her head.

Emet-Selch’s smirk returns in full force. “Oh, so this is just for _me_ then? You are truly too kind. All of it for my sake. For _my_ eyes. I shall remember it fondly.”

The Exarch startles when he hears a moan from his own lungs unbidden, face and chest flushing hot with the embarrassment of watching something like this.

The tentacles speed up, undulating more and more against her sex, pointed and precise, and her abdomen flexes with the strain as—

“E-Emet… _Oh!”_

The Exarch’s orgasm crests as she keens, trembling bodily as the waves of pleasure spread out from their origin in her core. Her eyes are half-lidded and her mouth hangs open, lips shining with saliva, flushed red with the fervor of their prior kiss.

She comes down twitching, heaving breaths through quiet moans. Eventually the tentacles between her legs retreat, leaving her empty and exposed beneath his gaze. The Exarch looks down and frowns at the mess he made, at his cock as it softens in the aftermath.

A moan from the scrying portal catches his attention. Emet-Selch presses forward for a kiss, somehow more urgent than before if such a feat is possible. A hand rests gently at the base of her neck, the other drifting lower to her bared hip. She moans softly into the touch, into his lips, into what little of his embrace she can reach from her position restrained against the wall.

A moment passes, two, languid seconds creeping by as Emet-Selch indulges in her lips — the only pleasure he has taken for himself in the entire exchange. It dawns on the Exarch, then, that this is far too intimate for his eyes. He flushes, and should probably turn off the scrying device, but hesitation stays his hand yet again.

 _What if he means for me to see this?_ Exarch would not put such a nebulous, calculated act past him; Emet-Selch is likely already aware of his infatuation for her, otherwise this display would have been far different. Does Emet-Selch mean to make him jealous? To take what he knows Exarch cannot in good conscience have for himself?

Emet-Selch removes the hand behind her head and pulls back, just enough that she struggles forward for more but cannot quite reach it.

“Please,” she breathes, “Allow me to return the favor. I owe you as much.”

Emet-Selch pauses a moment, considering. There’s an emotion barely at the surface of his expression that the Exarch can’t quite place — longing? Sorrow? Regret?

Either way, it disappears behind a smirk as he puts a few more ilms of space between them. “You shall owe me, then.”

A snap sounds through the room and in an instant, Emet-Selch is gone. The black aether and tentacles holding the Warrior of Light upright disappear as well, and she slides with her back against the wall to sit on the ground without their support, still weak from… Well, everything.

But, a smile lingers on her lips, a satisfied glow she cannot help but emit. At the sight of it, Exarch finally deactivates the scrying mirror, and sets off to wash himself of his shame.

**Author's Note:**

> forgiven tentacle porn
> 
> heyyyyyyyyyy i'm [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)
> 
> heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy come hang with [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb)


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